


In Uniform:  A Kissing Booth

by A Passing Housewife (flourchildwrites)



Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Tumblr Events [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe Prompt, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kissing Booths, Mutual Pining, Netflix and Chill, ROTC, Royai Week, Royai Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites/pseuds/A%20Passing%20Housewife
Summary: Sparks fly at the annual Autumn fair when Central University's ROTC program hosts a kissing booth.  Cadet Hawkeye swears she won't find herself in the hot seat.  Cadet Major Mustang vows that he won't get a little too familiar with his favorite subordinate.Pucker up, buttercup.  Some promises are made to be broken.Written for Royai Week 2018





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something new. Two things actually. A) More direct prose. B) No angst. Well, not a lot of angst... We'll see how this goes. 
> 
> So without further ado, please enjoy my final submission for Royai Week 2018. I'll be updating this chapter fic throughout the day (as I write it). However, I'll probably leave one chapter outstanding because what I really need in my life is another unfinished chapter fic. How many is that now? I'm not even counting anymore.
> 
> P.S. I know nothing about ROTC that I didn't learn from a group of guys who lived in my apartment complex in college or an FAQ page. If you have critiques, please be kind. I'm happy to fix the things I got wrong though.

Cadet Riza Hawkeye was in the habit of keeping her word.  It was for this reason, and absolutely no other, that she found herself in dress blues, complete with _the skirt_ , standing under a glittery homemade sign that read “In Uniform:  A Kissing Booth.”  Suffice it to say Cadet First Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina was a bit too good at securing promises first and filling in the details later.

Granted, it could be worse.  It could _always_ get worse, Riza reminded herself as she accepted Jean Havoc’s third ticket of the night.  She could be the one doing the kissing instead of collecting the tickets.  And, as Becca stressed (at length) if a fundraiser for a children's hospital wasn’t a worthy cause, nothing was.

“When are you up, Hawkeye?” Jean asked as he enthusiastically took the next available place in Rebecca’s queue.  He threw a wry smile at his former compatriot, supported heavily by a pair of crutches.

Riza shot him a pointed look in return.  “When are you re-enrolling in the ROTC, Havoc?”

“Touché.”  Jean chuckled raising his arms as much as his crutches would allow in mock surrender.

“I might get around to it,” he added with a matter-of-fact tone.  “Near fatal car accidents have a way of putting things in perspective, Riza.  And if I want something,” he cast his gaze in Rebecca’s direction, watching with soft eyes as she waved off her most recent suitor, “I’m done telling myself that I can’t have it before I even try.  And, if you don’t mind me saying, maybe you should do the same.  Screw the regs.”

A blush crept up in the blonde’s cheeks, and she shuffled the tickets in her hands with more interest than the small pieces of cardstock warranted.  “I have no idea what you mean by that,” she lied, but fate gave her little time to recover.

“Back again, Havoc,” sounded a deep, dulcet voice from over Riza’s shoulder.  Several of the college co-eds in line stirred as Cadet Major Mustang greeted Jean and settled next to his cadet in the booth.  A particularly petite brunette in a green cardigan and jeans chewed her lip in open anticipation.  Hawkeye huffed under her breath, but she could hardly blame them.  Whatever else could be said of him, Roy Mustang made the uniform look good.

“I don’t want to have to tell you again,” Mustang joked, “no more than three Mississippis and no tongue.”

Jean could only shrug in response as he eagerly sidled up to Rebecca and tucked a wispy strand of raven hair behind her ear.  Leaning into his display of affection, Becca sighed contentedly as the former cadet palmed her cheek and their lips met for the third time that evening.  Hawkeye turned away as she tried not to think about where this would lead.  Though she and Becca were finally out of the dorms and in separate bedrooms, their apartment walls were particularly  _thin_.

“Can you believe those two,” Riza said with exasperation.  The irritated cadet all but snatched the next ticket out of an unsuspecting patron’s hand and quickly directed her to Falman’s stall at the far right of the booth.  “How did Becca talk you guys into this?”

“The higher-ups aren’t micromanagers about fundraisers, Hawkeye, and Catalina didn’t tell me it was a kissing booth.  She just promised there wouldn’t be a repeat of last year if she had my support,” Roy stated frankly.

Riza smiled smugly as a colorful memory replayed in her mind’s eye.  The dunking booth was also Rebecca’s brainchild, and from a monetary standpoint, the event was a bona fide success.  Of course, the ROTC program’s triumph came at the expense of Roy Mustang’s pride.  An enterprising young Edward Elric had spent a large portion of that evening sending the then-cadet captain into a vat of cold water.

“I’m just as surprised as you are that the university approved this and helped secure the proper dispensations,” Roy added with incredulity as he perused the spent tickets.  “But, I don’t think I can argue with these results.  Tell me, how is everyone _making out_?”  Riza’s superior officer wiggled an eyebrow suggestively at the cheesy innuendo, and the young markswoman couldn’t help but giggle, if only for a second.

“The Elrics keep trading off, but Alphonse is bringing them in pretty steadily.  Edward, not as much with his attitude and the, uh, height insecurities,” Riza reported as she continued to collect tickets.

“Music to my ears,” Mustang happily added.  The dunking incident had cemented the older Elric brother’s place on Mustang’s shit list for the next century or so. 

“Falman is holding his own, as is Catalina, obviously, but the real stand out of the night is Paninya Dominic.”  Hawkeye gestured to the stall farthest to the left and indicated a line six people deep.  From the chair inside the open-fronted partition, the cadet zealously pressed her lips to the side of a freckled ginger’s face.  Riza took comfort in the fact that not every patron wanted to lock lips.  “It’s not unexpected though considering she’s a Paralympics medalist.”

“That was Catalina’s thinking,” the cadet major responded.  “Use her local celebrity to our advantage.  But we should give her a break soon.  How ‘bout it, Riza?  Are you up for some _fundraising_?”

It was far from the first time someone suggested that Hawkeye occupy one of the ladies chairs.  Yet, as the worlds fell from her superior officer’s lips, Riza flushed.  The tips of her ears radiated heat like a furnace, threatening to singe a few stray pieces of her carefully secured hair.  Hawkeye mentally ran through the list of reasons why she never responded to Roy Mustang’s advances.  Apart from the fact that he was both her superior officer and her father’s research assistant, she reminded her inner schoolgirl that he was also a notorious flirt.

Still, her stomach turned over itself as she imagined her bed-headed major as the first person in line, ready and waiting to press his soft lips against… “Never going to happen,” Hawkeye said abruptly, as much to herself as to Mustang. 

“But uh… now that you mention it, Falman could use a break too, and I’d be lying if I said that a few girls haven’t been asking about you.  How ‘bout it, sir?”  Riza shot Roy a sharp look and glanced toward the excited brunette to bolster her point.  Though she looked on the younger side of things, the girl had been openly eyeing the officer up and down like a piece of cheesecake for the better part of two minutes.

“I thought I asked you to call me Roy when it’s just the two of us,” he quipped in a low, intimate voice.  Mustang leaned in, but Hawkeye stood her ground as the air between them crackled with an unspoken attraction.  No longer rattled but entirely enthralled by him, Riza responded before she could censor herself.

“How ‘bout it, _Roy_?”

“When you say it like that—”

“Ahem!”  The pair startled and their heads snapped toward the stern blonde in front of them.  The pads of her fingertips strummed against the wooden countertop, and a condescending look was etched across her fine features.  Pouty lips glistened with fresh lip-gloss under the string lights of the fairgrounds as she stood indigently before the cadets.

“Olivier,” Mustang exclaimed, flashing the newcomer his trademark lopsided grin.  “To do what do we owe the pleasure?”

Riza mentally chastised herself for letting her imagination get the better of her again.  _He’s just a flirt_ , she thought.  _And if it were anyone besides you, he’d have said the same thing._   Thankfully, Olivier Armstrong’s thoughts traveled along the same lines.

“Spare me, Mustang,” she pronounced curtly.  Olivier nodded toward Riza, and Hawkeye returned her straightforward greeting in kind.  “When my sniveling brother informed that Central University’s ROTC program was hosting a kissing booth, I had to see it for myself.  Such things would not be tolerated at Briggs State.  Not on my watch.”

“Fine,” Roy stated professionally, reeling back his lazy tone in favor of an official timbre.  “Is there something I can help you with _Cadet Colonel Armstrong_?”

“Well, now that I’m here, I do find one of your offerings intriguing,” she said with a wicked grin as she produced a blue ticket.

“Now now,” Mustang balked in mocking fashion.  He pushed the ticket back toward Oliver with both palms exposed.  “I can’t allow you to manhandle one of my men, especially the little Elric over there.  The shrimp’s a fragile shellfish.”

“Now I know you’ve been breathing in the chemicals too deeply, chemistry boy!”  Olivier declared with incredulity.  “Not them. Her!” 

Oliver pointed toward the far left where Paninya had just puckered up for her last gentleman caller in line.  As was her way, the blonde didn’t wait for Roy’s response.  She handily brushed past Riza, slamming her ticket on the countertop as she crossed the booth’s threshold.  Olivier’s movements lost their rigidity as she sauntered over to the tawny beige cadet with the confidence of a major general.

Using a sly smile that Riza had a hard time pairing with the severe cadet colonel, Oliver spoke causally with Paninya, placing a hand on her knee to test the waters.  Roy rolled his eyes as he witnessed Olivier trace her thumb over Paninya’s jawline, smoothly bringing their faces together until the motion blossomed into a deep kiss.  Along with several passersby, Riza gawked in astonishment as Paninya’s hips rolled forward, and Oliver openly explored the younger girl’s backside.

“I think you better step in, sir,” Riza said through stifled laughter.  “I’m no expert, but I think that’s more than three Missisippis.”

Roy groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  “It’s just not my night, is it cadet?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, feedback is life. Subscriptions, bookmarks, kudos and comments (especially comments) are things of beauty. Please be a beautiful person and leave me some if you liked this. Stay tuned for the next chapter. I might even get it out today!

Olivier Mira Armstrong never missed an opportunity to make Roy’s life difficult.  At least, that was the impression he got given their many years of interaction.  It wasn’t enough that she had routinely interrupted his World of Warcraft guild meetings with Alex and generally lorded over him during their shared ROTC experience in high school.  Neither, it would seem (given her usage of “chemistry boy,” one of her unimaginative nicknames for Mustang), did she intended to turn over a new leaf during her senior year of college.

But to interrupt that rare moment of flirtatious banter with Riza!  There was something about that straw that finally broke the camel’s back.

“What the hell, Olivier?” he spat once the two had exited the fairgrounds.  “Do you even like Paninya or are you just trying to make my life difficult?  It’s not right to mess with her emotions if it’s just a game to you.”

“Both actually,” Olivier responded with smug satisfaction.  “And you’re quite the hypocrite.  At least Paninya isn’t under my command.  People talk about you and Hawkeye, and given what I’ve seen tonight, I’m surprised you both haven’t been court-martialed.”

“Watch your mouth?” Roy growled.  “You want to talk trash about me, fine.  I’m a little too familiar with subordinates.  But leave Riza out of it.  She’s done nothing wrong.”

“Why Roy,” Olivier countered.  The young woman turned to lean casually against a parked car, presumably her own.  Genuine surprise played across her lips.  “You do care about her, don’t you?”

Though he maintained a dark look, Roy said nothing in response to Olivier’s baiting.  He turned on his heel to leave, making a mental note to talk to Alex about sharing information with his infamous sister.  Olivier was a pill at the best of times, even if her threat to report Roy and Riza was hollow.

“I also came to warn you,” Olivier called out after Roy.  Cadet Major Mustang stopped and turned his head to view Olivier out of the corner of his eye.  “Kimblee, that kid who transferred to Briggs last semester, the one who has a problem with you, mentioned something about stopping by this fundraiser in class on Friday.  I was in town visiting, and I thought you should know.”

Still seething from her earlier pokes and prods, Roy couldn’t bring himself to thank Olivier aloud; however, her warning was more than appreciated.  Though a gifted tactician and an intelligent philosophy major, Kimblee was sadistic at his core, a former officer who narrowly escaped expulsion due to his connections and a hasty transfer.  The cadet major nodded and waved casually over his shoulder as he returned to the festival, and even though thoughts of Cadet Hawkeye’s skirt made his palms sweat, he vowed not to act on his impulses for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Time passed progressed without further incident, and though Roy’s found that he’d left his levity on the outskirts of the parking lot, the rest of his team carried on as if nothing was awry.  By a quarter past eight, the crowd thinned and all four kissers (Ed departed early to spend time with Winry, one of his few customers) took a well-deserved break.  To Roy’s relief, Cadet Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes and Cadet Heymans Breda arrived to handle the closing shift.

“Good work team,” Hughes congratulated with gusto.  “Really stickin’ your lips to that competition.”  Hughes chuckled at his own bad joke while polite laughter rippled through the small group.  “Now, for the last hour, I say we go down to one boy and one girl.  Breda and Ross are our kissers, Hawkeye will continue to man the ticket line, and I will supervise.  Everyone else, have a great evening and be sure to stop by around nine when we auction off the final kiss of the evening.  No bidding though.  Gotta respect those anti-frat regs.”

The small crowd dispersed as the off-duty cadets discarded their dress blue in favor of civvies.  Roy Mustang, now free of the tie that always seemed to choke him, threw on a baggy pair of jeans and a hoodie emblazoned with the Central University Crest.  After carefully bagging the parts and pieces of his uniform, he slipped a well-worn baseball cap over his mop of messy black hair.

“Hughes,” Mustang beckoned.  “Can I have a word?”

The bespectacled colonel excused himself from the company of Rebecca and Riza.  He slid his cell phone into his jacket pocket with a contented grin.  Roy mused, somewhat ruefully, that ever since Maes began dating Gracia, his world seemed to shift.  Gone were the days of player Maes and his wingman Roy, though most people assumed it’d been the other way around.  Still, Mustang found himself jealous of the perfect Instagram couple presented by Hughes’ snapshots.

“How’s Gracia?” Roy asked.

“Beautiful as always,” Maes stated, “but I know you didn’t call me over here to get a good look at our selfies.  What’s bothering you?”

“That transparent, am I?”

“Only to me, buddy.  Now spill.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Roy said, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably.  “Olivier stopped by…”

“I saw that on Fuery’s snapchat,” Maes interrupted.  “Was it better in person?”

“She grabbed Paninya’s ass during my watch, in front of a group of pre-teens and a mom,” Roy answered with venom.  “I fully expect some sort of complaint about it by Monday afternoon and a dressing down by Grand shortly after that.  So no, it was not better in person, Maes.”

“That’s a shame ‘cause I think we really could have capitalized…”

“Olivier told me that Kimblee was planning on showing up,” Roy interjected.  “It’s probably not a big deal, but you know what he was planning before I…”

“Say no more,” Hughes said with a serious expression.  “That bastard played it off as a joke and got the hell out of Central, but we both know he should have been arrested.  I’ll keep an eye out, and if he shows, I’ll take care of it.”

Roy smiled gratefully at his comrade.  “Thanks, Maes.”

“You sticking around for the auction?”  Hughes clapped Mustangs shoulder as cadet major gathered his uniform and turned to leave.

“I don’t think so,” Mustang said.  “Professor Hawkeye’s got a deadline next week, and I’d like to try to get some stuff done tonight.”

“Suit yourself.  All work and no play makes Roy a dull boy.”  Hughes lowered his voice considerably as his next thought slipped from his lips.  “But it’s not like Hawkeye’s in the hot seat.”

For the second time that evening Roy found himself at a loss for words when it came to Riza Hawkeye.  He couldn’t say he didn’t have feelings for the blonde sharpshooter.  That ship, the USS Denial, sailed long ago.  Now, it was a matter of damage control, of finding the balance between maintaining a working relationship and hopelessly wanting something more. 

“Have a nice evening, Maes,” Roy said as he headed out the back, toward the parking lot.

“Roy!”  A familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.


	3. Chapter 3

"I thought he'd never leave," Rebecca said as Maes pocketed his phone and weaved his way toward Roy. "If that guy weren't a cadet lieutenant colonel I'd tell him that the world does not need twenty-five selfies of him and his girlfriend on the Ferris wheel."

"He's happy," Riza remarked. "Who are we to burst his bubble?" She shifted uncomfortably in her jacket, thankful for the chill provided by the crisp fall air. "Where's Maria? I'm ready to get this last part over with."

"About her," Becca said with caution, "she texted me about some family emergency. She's not coming."

The color drained from Riza's face. "Well, you're staying, right? Did you call Sheska? Can she fill in?"

"Sheska refused to help before she even found out it was a kissing booth, and I've been kissing people for hours. Besides, something's come up."

"No," Riza groaned. "I'm not… I can't… What do you mean 'something's come up?' Oh, it's Jean, isn't it?"

"We got to talking during one of the breaks, and he asked if he could see me again. And I might have suggested that we Netflix and chill tonight after I got off."

"Where?"

"Well… he's still living with his parents until he completes rehab, so I kinda invited him back to our place."

"And, setting aside the fact that you're my ride, how long do you expect to be Netflix and chill-ing, Becca?"

Rebecca's lips morphed into a sly grin, and she lowered to voice to a whip of a whisper. "For as long as Jean can wreak Havoc if you know what I mean."

Riza arched an eyebrow in a perturbed fashion. "I appreciate your honesty, but you do realize the TV - if we're even entertaining that pretense - is in the living room, and our walls are like tissue paper."

"Oh come on Ri!" Rebecca nearly begged. "It's been months, almost _six_ months since I got any. I passed dry spell up a while ago. I'm in a damn drought. And I like him, really, actually _like_ him. We'll be out of the living room by the time you get back, and if you just wear earplugs you won't hear a thing. We'll be so quiet, I promise. Hughes or Breda would drive you. It's practically on Breda's way home. And there's only an hour left here. Half the kisses were on the cheek, and it's all for a good cause…"

"Becca," Riza sighed. Havoc's words rang through her mind. _And if I want something, I'm done telling myself that I can't have it before I even try_. She cradled her forehead in the palm of her hand and let out a resigned sigh. If they could be happy, even just for the night, who was she to stand in the way?

"Fine, I'll do it, and I'll stay at my father's house tonight. It's better that way. But you owe me, especially if I get mono."

"Oh my God, Riza!" Rebecca squealed and threw her arms around Riza's neck. "You're absolutely the best. Plus, maybe major hot pants will stick around and line up for a kiss, hmm?"

"That's never happening," Riza sighed as she extricated herself from her friend's exuberant embrace.

"Oh really," the second lieutenant asked with a questioning glint in her eyes. "That's what you said about participating in the actual kissing-not that I'm complaining. It's just…" Rebecca bit her lip as she spied someone over Riza's shoulder. "You'll thank me later."

"Roy!" Rebecca called out in her most Riza-like voice. The blonde turned to find the cadet major locking eyes with her as her friend ducked out of sight and mind. As Roy drew near, Riza felt her heart beat thrum in her throat, and the ordinarily collected cadet grasped haplessly for the right words. Hughes or Breda could bring her back to the apartment, but Roy had spent more time at her dad's then she had during the last year and a half.

"Um hey," Riza awkwardly offered when Roy came in earshot. She fiddled what sleeves of her jacket. "So Maria's not coming, and I have to fill in. I rode with Becca, but she's going home early because she's…" The cadet suppressed the urge to say 'planning to mess around with Havoc until she breaks him' in favor of, "…tired. Can I, um, get a ride to my father's house, if you were planning on sticking around, that is?"

Roy smirked. "And would this tired feeling have anything to do with Havoc?"

"I believe so," Riza replied with a resigned shrug of her shoulders. Roy chuckled.

"Can't say I'm surprised. You know, I was thinking about sticking around, and I bet Professor Hawkeye has some notes I can pick up while I'm there. So… sure thing. It'll save me a trip tomorrow." Roy paused momentarily as he glanced at his tennis shoes. Then, without warning, he met Riza's copper gaze. The effect was disarming. "I thought you said you were never going to find yourself in the hot seat, Riza."

Her first name rolled off his tongue with a faint accent; a telling lit Roy strived to curb save with those he trusted. In fleeting moments such as these, Riza could admit to herself that she liked him best like this, clad in civilian clothes with wanting eyes, all formality and pretense of superiority set aside. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips to compensate.

"I really should stop saying never, shouldn't I Roy?"

"Maybe so. Just do me a favor, and don't fall in love out there."

"I couldn't if I wanted to." She nearly slapped her hand across her mouth. Much like Roy's command, Riza's answer fell from her lips readily, like they were picking up right where they left off before Olivier's infamous interruption. Cadet Hawkeye turned away from Cadet Major Mustang and began to make her way toward the booth's exterior. Still, she heard Roy's reply loud and clear.

"Good," he said, somewhat darkly. "I'll be waiting for you after the auction."

Damn Becca and Jean and Maria and Roy. Damn the way her name sounded so good coming from his lips. But most of all she blamed herself for falling for him so easily, without realizing it until it was far too late.

_But, it could be worse_ , Riza reminded herself as she sat in the stall where Becca spent most of the evening puckering up for strangers. However, caught in the moment, Hawkeye wasn't sure how.

* * *

 On the whole, Riza had to admit that Cadet Second Lieutenant Catalina had been right. Where the fair was practically bursting with both familiar and foreign faces an hour earlier, the crowds had thinned to passing couples linked arm and arm. The hour halved itself in no time and dwindled to a handful of minutes in what felt like the blink of an eye punctuated by a few chaste lip locks. And despite the steadily dropping temperature, she felt warm, happy even when she allowed herself to bask in the anticipation of her ride with Roy.

It was always nice to be alone with him, to let her mask slip without fear of reprisal. In the darkness of his car, a place where not even Roy would be able to see her, Riza could smile a little more. She could laugh louder and blush deeper in response to his flirty banter. And maybe, just maybe Roy would hold her hand again; like he had the day he drove her home from her mother's funeral.

Riza hadn't expected to see him there, decked out in a bespoke dark gray suit. In fact, her father hadn't even bothered to pay his respects to his ex-wife on the rationale that if she "never wanted to see him again" during her life, she'd feel no different when dead. But his student had come nonetheless with a bouquet of white stargazer lilies in hand, and when he asked Riza if she needed a ride back, the young woman had almost lost herself in the tender way he looked at her.

"Miss!" exclaimed a chipper voice from just below Riza's line of sight. The cadet blinked, blushed and shook her head to whisk away the memory of Roy's palm pressed against hers. She looked down and smiled warmly at a grinning, knock-kneed schoolboy offering her a steaming cup of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

"Thank you." Riza ruffled the dark hair of the boy in front of her and gratefully accepted the styrofoam vessel, pressing the pliable container between her hands. In return, she placed a quick peck on the side of the boy's chubby face. The apples of his cheeks burned.

"He asked me to give it to you 'cause you looked cold," the young boy added, looking over his right shoulder. Riza followed his gaze, spying a shadowed figure leaning against one of the closed booths. He was taller, perhaps taller than Roy, Riza thought. With her sharp eyes, she spied a few loose strands of hair hanging down to frame the darkened features of his face. Hawkeye's stomach lurched. If she didn't know better…

"Oh, it was very nice of you to deliver these to all of us," Riza added as she brought the warm liquid to her mouth.

"I don't think he wants you to share," the boy responded with a quizzical stare. "He told me it was for you, just you."

"Oh," Riza stated with a flutter of trepidation in her voice. She brought the cup down without taking so much as a sip. "Well, you should probably get back to your mom. I bet she's worried. Thank for the special delivery, um…"

"Selim," the boy provided with a smile. "My name's Selim."

"Thank you, Selim." Riza returned his grin as the boy jaunted toward a mature brunette, presumably his mother. The cadet's smile faded fast as she rotated the flexible cup within her hands. There, written in an unnervingly familiar hand was a message.

_Keep those lips warm for me –SJK._

"Secret admirer?" Maes Hughes's cheerful voice startled Riza. Frazzled but without missing a beat, the cadet placed her hand over the message knowing Maes would place it immediately. She just needed a moment to think about it, to consider all the variables. Surely, Kimblee had better things to do.

"What this? Oh no, sir, I don't think…"

"I mean the boy," Maes cut her off, eyes glinting underneath his glasses. "Who else could I be talking about?"

"No one. I'm just tired," Riza recovered with some difficulty. "Selim just thought I looked cold."

"No one?" Cadet Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes arched his left eyebrow inquisitively.

"It's nothing, really."

"Well, if it's nothing then you won't mind telling me."

Riza decided to cut her losses. Maes would get it out of her one way or another. Though she couldn't claim to know him any better than the other cadets, Riza knew Roy trusted him. And if Roy trusted Maes, that was good enough for Hawkeye. The blonde retracted her hand, revealing the incendiary direction. It took the cadet lieutenant colonel less than five seconds to analyze the situation and formulate a response.

"Cadet Breda," he called loudly to the other side of the booth. "I want Cadet Elric here on the double. Tell him to bring that friend of his, the ambassador's son, Ling Yao. And text Mustang too. Tell him, he was right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished writing this chapter at about 2:30 a.m. and AO3 went down. And I know better. Better than to forego sleep to write fanfics, better than the edit in a browser. Did any of that stop me from mourning my loss? Nope. I had my own little pity party at about 3 a.m. when AO3 miraculously came back up. Not that I could post anything because I was half delirious, and it was unedited. But I digress...
> 
> One more chapter I think. And as always, bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos and comments are amazing. The people who leave them are equally amazing people. So be amazing. Tell me what you liked, and even what you didn't. Happy reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say one more chapter? I meant three. But you know what? I'm finishing this sooner rather than later b/c I'm committed. Fanfic writing is turning me into a maladaptive daydreamer, but I'm going down with this ship.

The fairgrounds really were enthralling, the kind of place that Roy would have loved as a child.  String lights softly lit the alley of booths, swaying back and forth with the crisp autumn breeze.  The sweet aroma of fried dough wafted past the young man, tempting him like a cruel mistress to go for a second funnel cake.  And over tidbits of fast-paced conversation from dozens of passing fair-goers, ambient shrieks and squeals sounded from the nearby carnival rides.  Their lights spun and twinkled in the distance, completing the ambiance.

A family of three passed Roy, and for a moment he imagined himself in place of the little sandy-haired boy of six or seven swinging carelessly between the arms of his parents.  Of course, the memory was false.  Aunt Christine was a night owl by necessity, a veritable predator of vice who had no need for folly of her own.  A consuming schedule was par for the course as the proprietor of a successful casino, and Roy knew there had been little time for happy family memories considering the hustle of bustle of such a volatile business.  Yet, even as a small child, Roy also understood he was lucky to be with family at all.

Better yet, his mind’s eye rearranged the pieces of the man’s face to reflect his own, and Roy pictured raven pigtails with blue ribbons in place of the crew cut.  If ever he had a family like that he vowed to take his child to a fair, to buy her funnel cakes dusted with powdered sugar and walk hand-in-hand well past bedtime.  The gender of the child wouldn’t even matter; he just hoped for light brown eyes, the color of warm honey, unfair though the thought was.  Roy only knew one person with eyes like that.

A tall figure with stringy jet-black hair brushed past Roy, intentionally clipping his shoulder with brute force behind the seemingly incidental contact.  Pulled from his reverie, Roy stumbled back a pace and glanced with intensity at the familiar figure before him.  His long face, beset with severe features and a maniacal smile, nearly knocked the wind from Roy’s belly.

“You,” Roy managed with an accusatory glare.

“Oh come now, _Cadet Captain Mustang_ ,” Kimblee all but purred, arms outstretched in mock humility.  “Is that any way to greet an old ROTC buddy?”

“It’s cadet major now,” Roy spat with no small amount of vanity.  “And I don’t see any friends around here, only a cockroach that got lucky and avoided a court-martial by turning tail.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Kimblee darkly chuckled.  “Still no manners, I see.  But if not friends, what shall we call ourselves?  Conspirators?  Bedfellows?  My silence for yours, remember?”

Roy bit his tongue.  That was the deal.  “I’ve said nothing.  And if you’re still honoring your end of the bargain, you’ll leave.”

“I will hold up my end of things.  In fact, I'm just stopping by to visit the old team and see this kissing booth for myself.  Make nice and put on a show for old time’s sake.  But imagine my surprise when I saw Hawkeye sitting so prettily under that sign.  She seems well.  That back of hers, whatever you did to it, looks fully healed.”  Kimblee’s head angled down; shadows exaggerated his fiendish grin.

“Nothing about her to anyone,” Roy growled.  His hands balled into a fist, poised to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Goad him though Kimblee would, Roy remained silent.  He didn’t care if the son of a bitch thought he was the one to hurt Riza.  It had been an accident, Professor Hawkeye’s accident.  Roy had only cleaned up the mess and tended to her wounds while they healed, but the then-cadet captain had gotten careless one evening, and Kimblee saw something he ought not to have. Discovery would have cost Berthold his good name as well as what remained of his sanity.

“So tense,” Kimblee chided.  “There’s nothing in our agreement about a kiss.  In fact, I’ve already visited the pavilion and asked them to start the bidding at $200.  I suppose with that amount I could get a whole lot more than a kiss.  Your aunt would be the expert on such things.  You don’t mind, do you, Roy? It’s for a good cause, after all.”

Roy minded, but he swallowed his unkind thoughts as his aunt had taught him to do.  Whatever Kimblee had to say about his Aunt Christine, it was probably accurate, if not the full truth.  And this was far from the first time someone had the gall to belittle her.  _Let them talk_ , Aunt Christine often told him, _and listen to what they say._

“The auction is for the ‘final kiss of the night,’ is it not?” Roy asked.  “There’s no guarantee it’ll be Cadet Hawkeye.  I’m afraid you’re wasting your money.”

“Oh, Roy.  This is what I’ve missed about you,” Kimblee offered.  “You may have the rank I wanted, but you can’t have her.  And however you choose to address Miss Hawkeye, you do want her.  Everyone knows it.  But thanks to you and that transfer, I can have her.  Do you think she’ll want me, Mustang?”

It was all provocation from this point; Roy knew it and held fast to that fact to strengthen his resolve.  Coldclocking Kimblee in the jaw would create more problems than it would solve, but damn it would feel good.  For the second time that night, Roy turned on his heel to leave.  He could almost feel Kimblee’s sadistic smirk boring into the back of his skull.

Roy’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he wasted no time in retrieving it.  The text from Breda was as a simple as it was foreboding.  _Meet at the back of the booth.  Maes said you were right._

* * *

“I was starting to have a good time,” Cadet Edward Elric bemoaned.  The buff blonde of somewhat below average stature kicked a rock in protest, sending it hurling into a patch of brush.  “Leave it to Major Buzzkill and his sidekick Colonel Selfie to interrupt my date because of a stupid summons.  And I have no idea why he asked for you… or why you agreed to come for that matter.”  Edward directed his last statement at a tall figure to his immediate right bearing a distinctly Xingese appearance.

“Poor Winry,” Ling said with a playful tone.  “The bar must be set pretty low if she considers greasy food and jerky rides that cause vomiting a date.”  Ling laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back with a yawn.  “And I’m here because you asked me to come.  It seemed like a better alternative than wandering around aimlessly until Mei and Alphonse were done riding that large wheel thing over there.”

Ed bristled at his friend’s comments.  “Geez, you could at least try to appreciate our culture, _Young Lord_.”

“Oh I do,” Ling responded.  He turned his attention to the petite, curvy figure to his right.  Her hair remained tied up in its customary bun with loose bangs framing her heart-shaped face.  She wore a dark green A-line dress with tights and boots that Ling noticeably admired.  “Lan Fan looks lovely in western style clothing.  I shall miss it when we go back to Xing for the winter break.  Father insists on traditional dress at the estate.  A bodyguard’s ceremonial robes do nothing for her figure.”

Ed rolled his eyes as Lan Fan blushed under Ling’s steady gaze.  She never responded to her charge’s advances, at least not in any way an outsider could decipher, but the trio wasn’t given long to ponder Lan Fan’s customary silence.  Three figures clad in blue uniforms made their way to the back of the booth.

“Where’s Al?” Breda asked in lieu of a greeting.

“He’s with Winry and Mei,” Ed offered.  “We didn’t want to leave them all alone.  I can fill him in on anything he needs to know.  I got Ling for you though.”

“Excellent,” Maes said, reaching for Ling’s hand.  While the gesture was still unfamiliar to the Xingese aristocrat, Ling accepted the greeting gingerly, and Maes shook his hand with enthusiasm.  “Nice to see you again, Yao.  I know this is out of the blue, but I was hoping you’d help us with a little problem we’ve run into.  You’ve met Cadets Hawkeye and Breda, and Cadet Major Mustang should be along any minute.”

“Yes,” Ling interjected, retrieving his hand from Maes' firm grip.  Beside Ling, Lan Fan stirred.  “And you know my bodyguard, Lan Fan?”

The cadet lieutenant colonel warmly extended his arm toward Lan Fan but was met with a stony-faced expression followed by a formal bow of the head.  “The Young Lord should return to his residence for the evening, but if he insists on helping you, I am also at your service,” she said succinctly.  Maes let his hand fall back to his side with a shrug and a smile.

“Well then maybe we should get to it, can’t wait for Roy fore- Oh good.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Roy said.  His face still flushed from the heated exchange with Kimblee.  The cadet major locked eyes with Riza and though her expression was largely unreadable, the subtle knit of her eyebrows spoke volumes.  “What happened?”

“Yeah,” Ed piped up.  “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until Monday?”

“Kimblee,” Maes provided.  “He left our program and transferred to Briggs State on less than friendly terms.  Suffice it to say we have reason to believe he’s going to cause trouble at the auction tonight.  I’d like to deprive him of that opportunity with Ling’s help, of course.”

“Go on.”  Ling nodded with mild intrigue.

“It’s simple.  We’re auctioning off the last kiss of the night.  Proceeds go to charity and all that so it would be a bad look to back out now.  We’ve agreed to put forth a male and female candidate.  Riza’s our only woman at the moment, and Kimblee’s made his position clear.  He wants to lock lips with Cadet Hawkeye, and she doesn’t like that idea.”

“This is silly, don’t you think?” Ed interrupted with hands crossed over his chest.  “Hawkeye can go home.  We’ll give ‘em two guys, say sorry and Kimblee will be out of luck unless he wants to French Breda.”

Breda was not amused.  “Bite me, Elric.”

“No,” Riza exclaimed, her hands curled into fists by her side.  Roy sensed something uncompromising in her posture, almost reminiscent of her father.  “That’s what he wants.  He... he left me a warning,” she said carefully.  “Why else would he threaten when he could keep quiet, show up and bid.  This is all about intimidation, and I won’t run away like he did.  We’re better than that.”

“I agree,” said a small, almost melodic voice from beside Ling.  The group’s collective head turned to stare at the uncharacteristically forthcoming young woman.  “What,” she said defensively.  “She’s right.  If Riza backs out now, he’ll know he got to her.”

“That’s all well and good,” Ling interjected, “but what does this have to do with me?”

Maes grinned.  “If Riza’s determined to stay, I say we stack the deck in our favor.  No one from Central’s ROTC can bid because of the anti-frat regs, but you can, Ling. And even though Kimblee’s folks are loaded, I bet a Xingese aristocrat carries around a fair amount of cash.”

Ling smirked.  “You might be right about that.”

“And you don’t mind kissing Ling?” Roy asked, eyes fixed on Riza.  She smiled kindly back at him.

“No, I don’t, Cadet Major Mustang,” she replied with a small shake of her head.  “If he doesn’t mind kissing me.”

“What do you think Lan Fan?” Ling said leaning toward his bodyguard.  “Do I mind kissing Riza and blowing some of father’s money for a good cause?”

Though seconds earlier the Xingese warrior had been a beacon of sisterly affirmation, her attitude sharpened, and she all but withdrew into Ling’s shadow.  When she spoke, she did so with eyes cast downward, unwilling to meet her charge’s gaze.  “It not my place to say who you do and do not kiss,” she said softly, almost regretfully.

“Alrighty then,” Maes rallied.  “It’s a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos and comments are amazing. The people who leave them are equally amazing people. So be amazing. Tell me what you liked, and even what you didn't. Join me in this maladaptive daydreaming that we call fanfiction. Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [vino_and_doggos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/pseuds/vino_and_doggos) for beta-ing this chapter for me. She deserves a medal, a hug or at least a cookie for catching all the places that my words got lost somewhere between my brain and my fingers. The last and final installment should be out in a week or two depending on my productivity.
> 
> And no author's note would be complete this familiar refrain: If you have feedback, please share it with me. Every kudo, bookmark, subscription and comment is precious! Also, follow me on tumblr under the name [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Happy reading!

The small group sauntered toward the main pavilion cloaked in easy steps and quiet conversation.  Maes took the lead, ever the operations manager, walking protectively to the left of Ling. As always, Lan Fan held domination over her Young Lord’s right side, eyes shifting furtively as dark bands of shadow traversed her face.  Roy fell back, past Ed and Breda who were passionately discussing the merits of beef stew, and found himself by Riza’s side, a place he preferred in troubled times. Shivers shot through Roy’s right palm as he resisted the compulsion to reach for her hand.

Mustang remembered each time he’d touched his professor’s daughter.  However, the most overpowering physical moments were far from pleasant.  Seared into his memory like a brand, Roy would never forget the gruesome details of tending to Riza’s burns.  With picture-perfect clarity, he recalled how she had silently flinched, spine curving inward against her will as he placed cool towels over the blistering area on her back.  Professor Hawkeye had paced cautiously outside Riza’s bedroom door.

…

_"Second degree, I think,” Roy muttered to Riza.  “No charring either. The pain’s a good sign, but I’d feel better if we took you to the emergency room.  The burn is… large.”_

_“No hospital,” Riza spat with hands clasped tightly over the back of a chair.  Her knuckles were white; her hands trembled. “Father shouldn’t have been experimenting at home, and it’s… not the first time.  Just the first time I’ve been hurt.”_

_Riza stifled a gasp of pain as Mustang draped another wet cloth across the angry skin on her back.  Berthold caught his assistant’s eye from behind the small crack in the door, and Roy nearly sneered.  Brilliant but careless. It was a familiar refrain used to describe Professor Hawkeye. If they only knew the full extent of his negligence.  The academician was on thin ice already; if word of this accident got out, there would be consequences._

_“I can dress it,” Roy said hesitantly.  “But we’ll need an antibiotic cream. Are you sure this isn’t a chemical burn?”_

_The young women laughed in a shrill and strained voice, utterly devoid of anything resembling levity.  When Riza spoke, her tone was soft, but her timbre contained a bitter edge that Roy had not heard before.  “I’m not sure of anything my father does anymore. You should ask him; he might tell you the truth. And tell him I’ll keep this a secret for his sake.  That’s what he’s waiting for out there. Just keep that man the hell away from me.”_

…

Snapping back to the present, Mustang shoved his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie to quell the dull ache that settled in his wanting fingers.  He looked over at Hawkeye, grateful that the incident’s scars, both physical and metaphorical, didn’t show. Pushing the ugly memory aside, back in the little box where Roy kept all the memories he wished to forget, the cadet major admired the way the string lights caught his cadet’s flaxen hair.  Hawkeye had weathered worse storms than this with more poise than most. Though it was the truth, Roy felt no better.

“You could leave,” he offered, realizing the suggestion was not helpful.  “I know you won’t back down, but no one would think less of you.”

“It’s fine,” Riza replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “If Kimblee gets in a bidding war with Ling, there’s lots of money to be made for our good cause.  I’m still going to let Rebecca have it when she finally answers her phone though. The kissing booth was a terrible idea.  Something like this was bound to happen, if not to me then someone else.”

Hearing Hawkeye’s candid tone lifted Mustang’s spirits, but he wanted to hear her laugh too much for his own good.  “We could always swap clothes and give Kimblee a real surprise.”

“What?” she balked.  If he didn’t know better, Roy would have sworn she sounded flustered.

“You know,” Mustang explained.  “Let me try on that skirt, get a wig.  Maybe some heels. It’d give Kimblee a big shock when he comes to collect his prize.”

“Elric wouldn’t need a wig, and he’s around my height,” Riza shot back with playful levity.  The pair stopped as they finally approached the main pavilion’s backstage entrance. “Maybe I should give my skirt to him.”

Roy scoffed.  “The shrimp hasn’t been around women as much as I have.  I doubt his act would be convincing. Besides if anyone’s getting into your skirt, I’d prefer it was me.”  It was a Freudian slip if ever there was one. “To take your place. Obviously,” he muttered hastily.

“Obviously,” Hawkeye agreed with a sheepish chuckle that made Roy’s palms tingle once more.

He’d bid every last cent in his meager checking account to feel her contentedly sigh against his mouth.  Where the cadet major’s other romantic relationships were nothing but flashes in the pan, there was an electric energy surrounding Riza that neither dulled nor dimmed.  With every knowing look that passed between them, she bewitched him anew.

It all made Roy mad.  Mad because he couldn’t control his flirting.  Mad because she deserved better than the hand she’d been dealt.  Mostly, just mad for her in the worst way.

Without hope or agenda, Roy wondered if Riza felt the same, and caught in the grasp of sexual allusion and hormones, neither of them noticed Ling hovering nearby, his bodyguard in tow.  A shrewd look crept across the Young Lord’s face as he shuffled off his blazer, wheels turning insightfully behind unassuming eyes. Lan Fan gave her charge a questioning look before Ling silenced her concerns with a reassuring wink.

“Let’s get a move on, Cadet Hawkeye,” Maes called from the side entrance.  Riza nodded in Roy’s direction, tearing her eyes away from him as she turned to follow her superior officer.  For his part, Mustang watched her walk away. Feeling at ease in his civvies, he allowed his eyes to linger a moment longer than necessary.  And he did like the skirt so very, very much.

Ling saw his window; he crossed the threshold with the relaxed demeanor of a pickpocket.

“So Roy,” the Xingese aristocrat said casually, throwing an arm around the cadet major’s shoulder.  He straightened up, matching Roy’s height. “Can I call you Roy? Silly me, I can’t keep up with all your strange ranks.”

The whole scenario took Roy aback.  “Well, I guess-”

“Great!” Ling exclaimed without waiting for Roy to finish his response.  He released Mustang from the embrace and gestured toward his red hoodie. “How about you loan me that jacket thing you’re wearing?  I’ll trade you for my blazer. What do you say, Roy?”

“But why-”

“Edward is always telling me to embrace Western culture” the Young Lord explained with enthusiastic optimism.  “The chi, or whatever you call it, spirit - I guess - moved me.”

With a skeptical expression, Roy removed his cap and pulled the hoodie over his head.  The cadet major handed his Central University hoodie to Ling. Tossing Mustang his blazer in turn, Ling wasted no time in slipping the bulky red fabric over his head.  Curiously, he tucked his distinctive ponytail in the collar and covered his head with the hood. Ling stood tall with an uncharacteristic straight-backed posture, and even his generally slumped shoulders seemed broader.

“Trying not to be recognized or something,” Mustang asked, still holding the young Lord’s blazer across his arm.

“Something like that,” Ling replied.  “Just make sure Kimblee sees you, and come find me before I go up on stage.”  Puzzled, Roy opened his mouth to ask why. An intimidation tactic? It made little sense to Mustang, as conniving as he might be at times.  But before the cadet major could inquire further, Ling Yao disappeared into the small crowd, his secrets intact.

* * *

Finding Kimblee had never been a challenge, least of all for Roy who had learned early on never to trust a person whose interests dwelled deeply, perhaps uncomfortably, within the realm of other people’s motivations.  And it wasn’t that the two were not, in some form or fashion, cut from the same cloth. Their looks alone were not so wholly dissimilar; their talents often rubbed shoulders in the packed auditorium classrooms of Central University.  If Roy Mustang was an oddity for coupling his chemistry major with a political science minor, Kimblee remained an enigma for favoring philosophy over the applied sciences, an area of expertise so wanting for such talent.

Roy moved cautiously through the throng of fairgoers, hyperaware that the fine wool of Ling’s overcoat stretched a tad too tight across his shoulder blades.  Scanning the crowd, he spotted an ominous figure. Dressed just as he was earlier in a crisp white tracksuit with purple stripes down the side, Kimblee stood out from the crowd.  He nodded in Roy’s direction with a sly leer. His hand fingered something in his pocket, his wallet, no doubt.

Roy directed his eye toward the stage where Maes Hughes stood with microphone in hand.  He tapped the tip of it with a questioning look and winced as the audio equipment sparked to life with ringing feedback.  True to form, Maes laughed apologetically and began his presentation. Roy scoffed with a subtle shake of his head.

“Hello, Hello!”  Maes announced, babbling with unbridled enthusiasm.  “Welcome to Central University ROTC’s first and last goodnight kiss auction.  All night the lovely ladies and gents of our program have been puckering up for a good cause, but the all-important final kiss of the evening belongs to that special someone who makes the most generous donation to The Liam Curtis Memorial Children’s Hospital.  And whether you want to cozy up to a guy or girl, we’ve got you covered. Introducing Cadets Riza Hawkeye and Heymans Breda.”

On cue, the cadets stepped out on stage and waved to the cheering audience.  A few disappointed feminine sighs rippled through the crowd, and a cognizant Breda shrugged with arms outstretched.  He flexed his bicep and winked as an encouraging whoop sounded from somewhere behind Mustang. Roy chuckled in spite of Kimblee’s proximity.  Hawkeye clapped politely, looking as vibrant as ever under the stage lights, if not wary of what was to come.

“Settle down, settle down,” Maes chided.  “Cadet Breda will be available after the auction for further calisthenics, and trust me,” the Cadet Lieutenant Colonel paused for effect, “he’s more limber than he looks.”

Over the polite laughter that generally accompanied his jokes, Maes explained the rules of the auction.  They were simple, straightforward and cautionary, just as they’d been all evening. No more than three Mississippis. No tongue.  Don’t get handsy and…

“Consent is key, everyone.”  The Cadet Lieutenant Colonel’s eyes settled meaningfully on Kimblee.  “So consider yourselves warned. The cadets can refuse for any reason, and you won’t get your donation back.”

Hughes handed the microphone off to the auctioneer who announced that the bidding would begin at $200.  Several disappointed groans emanated from the fairgoers around Roy who, likewise, grimaced at the dollar amount.  He hadn’t accepted money from his aunt in years, not since his scholarship came through, but if their cockamamie plan panned out, he’d tap into her dirty funds in a heartbeat to repay Ling, especially if he was quick about the kissing.

“Do I hear $230?” the auctioneer announced.

From the other side of the stage, Roy recognized the red sleeve of his hoodie raised high in the air.  Ling’s voice was clear as a bell. “$250.”

Next, to Roy, Kimblee gritted his teeth. “$300!”

“$300 to the gentleman in white.  Do I hear $350?”

Ling nodded his head, raising the bid in a back and forth bidding war. Until…

“$500 from the red hood.  Do I hear $550?” There was a loaded pause.  Next to Roy, Kimblee grunted, having scraped the bottom of his monetary barrel.  He breathed heavily through his nose and shook his head when the auctioneer attempted to solicit another bid.

“Going once, going twice… DONATION ACCEPTED!  Will the man in the red hood report to stage left to receive his goodnight kiss.”

Relief flooded Mustang’s shoulders as the outcome sunk in.  He released a breath previously held captive in his chest and remembered Ling’s direction.  Mustang turned to leave, intercepted again by a familiar roadblock, Kimblee’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter,” he sneered with a sideways glare.  “Lose the battle. Win our war. It’s still gratifying to know you can’t have her.”

“Riza isn’t a thing to be possessed,” Roy retorted with a gruff tone.  “She’s not an interesting specimen or a fucking case study.”

“Fascinating,” Kimblee purred, walking backward into the cloak of night’s darkness.  “This from the man who compared life to a game of chess. Moves and countermoves. But are you a player or just a piece, cadet major?”

Mustang didn’t know whether Kimblee’s question was accusatory, intriguing or merely rhetorical.  Yet, the madman’s remarks cut to the quick. Life was a game of chess in many respects, all plotting, intrigue and showmanship to round out the finer points.  And if his opponent was Kimblee, Roy intended to win the competition.

But there was no time to indulge in further wordplay.  Clad in Ling’s black blazer, Roy retreated from his counterpart in white.  He rushed to the stage’s left in time to see a suspicious slip of Ling’s red hood, just as he handed the donation over.

“Guess you caught me,” Ling jovially expressed.  The sentiment bounced back and forth as little more than a murmur confirming that the mysterious bidder was, in fact, “that Xingese kid, the ambassador’s son.”  So much for secrecy, Roy thought. But it didn’t matter. Riza’s pride had been spared.

Donning his hood again, Ling and Lan Fan slipped through the pavilion’s side curtain.  As promised Roy followed, ducking unnoticed behind the young Lord and his bodyguard. No sooner than Roy had cleared the thick fabric than his hoodie was tossed to him.

“I thought you were concerned about anonymity,” Roy inquired.  Lan Fan all but forced her charge’s blazer from Mustang’s shoulders.  She tutted at the stretched wool and smoothed the heavy material as best she could.

“I am,” Ling explained.  “But not mine. You should hurry.  It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting.”

“Aren’t you going to... you know?”

Ling gave Roy an honest look before turning his attention to Lan Fan.  He smiled sadly. “You and I, we’re not so different and in more than matters of the heart.  With a name like Mustang, I assume it was your mother that gave you your eyes. Even if someone catches a glimpse, Amestrians like to say such ignorant things about how we all look alike.  Riza’s got good taste though.”

In a rare show of affection, Ling threaded his fingers through Lan Fan’s hand.  “Do us both a favor. Go to her, quickly.”

Roy searched for words of protest but found none.  “What if she doesn’t want this?”

“Look at her.  You’ll know,” Lan Fan offered.

“And like Ed said, you can always kiss Breda instead,” Ling added.

If he could’ve lived it down, Roy might have done just that.  But when he stepped out on the stage with the hood over his head and his heart in his hands, Mustang closed the distance between himself and Hawkeye with surprising speed.  She peered up at him with a perplexed expression, her mouth making the shape of an “o” as she connected the dots in her mind’s eye.

Roy drew near.  So close he could feel the warm puffs of her quick breaths as they mixed with his amidst the night air.  Roy reached for Riza’s hand, fingertips grazing. She didn’t stop him.

He wanted to kiss her silly, in a way that would violate all the sensible rules set in place by the terms of this odd arrangement.  In a manner that would leave little doubt about how he really felt about his employer’s daughter. But Roy wanted Riza on her terms.  Not like this.

Mustang’s words echoed in his head.

_“Riza isn’t a thing to be possessed.”_

No, she wasn’t a thing, and, likewise, her affection wasn’t something that could be bought and sold like flowers or chocolates.

But rather than falter, proud Mustang locked his dark eyes with Riza’s warm honey gaze.  He grasped her hand, thumb stroking her work-worn fingers, and exposed the softer skin of its back.  Maintaining their gaze, Roy pressed his lips against her paler skin. It was a simple, but dignified sign of respect that could have been easily dismissed and set aside.

All the same, it took Riza’s breath away.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, you guys. Last chapter. Probably. You'll see.
> 
> First of all, thank you to [vino_and_doggos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/pseuds/vino_and_doggos) for beta-ing this chapter for me. She's so patient. I could gush all day. And she's got a new fic posted. It's a gorgeous piece of angsty smut. All the feelings. So, if you didn't get the *em* satisfaction you wanted from this fic, check out [Rewrite the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15486588). 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who read (and especially those who subscribed to) this little kitschy AU of mine. You guys gave it more comments and kudos than I'd ever hoped for. I've got a lot going on in my life; we all do, to be fair. But seeing the comment e-mails from AO3 come through can really make me smile during tough times.
> 
> That being said, I hope this last chapter lives up, and (just like Fullmetal Alchemist) I (sadly) didn't write the lyrics to [Kiss Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqfRCPLOEcA). Please don't sue me.

For a moment in time, the world around Roy and Riza simply ceased to be.  The crowd melted away, and all noise left Riza’s ears save the sound of her quickening pulse.  Roy’s lips were soft and plump; his eyes were bottomless wells of dark, intoxicating liquid. From the point where Mustang’s mouth met Hawkeye’s skin, warmth shot through her system like a deadly virus that sapped her restraint.  It left Riza feeling soft and supple from head to toe.

She might have been able to set those feelings aside, to play off the way her breath hitched as nothing more than shock, but his gaze held too many unspoken truths.  Roy knew her inside and out, from the subtle swell of her thigh to the blunt wit of her straightforward mind. And he wanted to have and hold it all. As serious as a heart attack.  With an impulsive sincerity, he kept locked behind all the reasons a relationship would be improper.

Roy was her father’s assistant and her superior officer.  He had a reputation for running hot and heavy while Riza was considered standoffish.  And whether consciously or inadvertently – Riza honestly didn’t know – they’d cast themselves in these contrasting roles, a method designed to keep them together but only at arm’s length.  And now the system faltered. The cycle was disrupted as if the serpent finally realized he was devouring his own tail. She told herself that she should have realized it sooner.

Though Hawkeye was a rigid person, drawn to rules and regulations like a moth to the flame, she felt her reservations crumble under the weight of Mustang’s silent confession.  Riza wondered what she looked like as she allowed the realization to wash over her, drowning all her sensible notions of self-discipline and moral fortitude. Surely, he knew that she felt the same, that she saw him for who he was underneath the intrigue and bravado, that following him came to her as naturally as breathing.

But the moment passed as time is wont to do, and once at full speed, events transpired in cut time to compensate for the lag.  Roy slipped away, yanking his hood over his downturned face as he hastily exited the stage. Still dazed, Hawkeye felt Maes clap her on the back and offer himself congratulations for a flawlessly executed plan.  Breda smirked. He rocked back and forth on his heels, exhaling with amusement as his eyes followed Roy’s red-hooded figure through the dwindling crowd.

It was difficult to tell if Maes knew.  His pleasant poker face wasn’t known to falter without a calculated purpose, and with Gracia waiting, the cadet lieutenant colonel was quick to excuse himself.  But Breda’s laid-back demeanor left little to the imagination. Ling’s off the cuff strategy wasn’t Shakespeare, not even Hemingway at that. There was no question; he knew.

“I would appreciate it if you could keep what you saw to yourself,” Riza stated in hushed tones.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Hawkeye,” Breda quipped.  His lazy smile and relaxed posture remained intact. Riza curtly nodded in his direction and turned to flee as fast as her legs could carry her to somewhere, anywhere else.  She’d call Rebecca and beg to be picked up. Thin walls, ear plugs and audible tantric sex would be a better fate than…

“If I may…”  Riza paused and steeled herself against whatever advice was on the tip of Breda’s tongue.

“Aren’t you tired of it?” he asked.  The cadet’s tone was as blunt as a battering ram.

Riza scoffed.  Was she tired of silly questions and idiotic fundraisers?  Of unreliable best friends whose cell phones went straight to voicemail?  Of men with dark hair and eyes that made her stomach do somersaults? What kind of question was that?

“You’ll have to be more specific, Breda,” Riza retorted with as much venom for Breda as for herself.  “Am I tired of what?”

“Do you really want me to spell it out?”

“No.  I want you to pretend you didn’t see anything tonight.”  Riza’s face flushed with indignation. It wasn’t Breda’s place to offer advice on her love life like he was playing a simple game of chess.

“And what about earlier this evening, before Armstrong’s sister showed up?  I heard about that. Even Falman suspected something. Or last week when you needed help jumping your car?  There’s a lot of things I pretend not to see, but then I’m an observant guy. I know when to keep my mouth shut.  Other people aren’t so discerning.”

Breda spoke softly as he absentmindedly unbuttoned his jacket and pulled at the tie constricting his neck.  He sauntered past Riza and moved toward the edge of the stage as calmly as if he was reciting his grocery list.  The young woman found it difficult to meet her comrade’s eyes.

“Your secret’s getting out,” he stated matter-of-factly, “Kimblee knew something; that’s obvious.  Hughes ignores it as I do, but Roy is climbing the ladder, and you’re about to contract. There’ll be more on eyes on you both.”

Breda paused as much for breath as for effect and continued.  “I’m a simple guy, Ri. I call it like I see it. Whatever’s happening between you two, it’s your move.  Decide what you want from him, and make your peace. That’s all I got to say.”

* * *

Becca didn’t answer her phone, and Riza had a half a mind to send her a string of passive-aggressive text messages just for the hell of it.  But, other than igniting Becca’s curiosity, that would serve no purpose, and by the time Riza had made her way to the parking lot, Roy was waiting for her.  He leaned against the hood of his secondhand Mazda Protege wearing a relieved expression. The infamous red hoodie hung limply over his arm.

“I thought you wouldn’t show,” he chuckled, as lighthearted as ever.

Riza slipped off her jacket and laid it carefully over Roy’s backseat.  She closed the car door with gusto and prepared herself as best she could to tell the lie that would make their lives easier.  “It was just a kiss on the hand. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Of course.  I was only doing Ling a favor.”

“I’m glad we can agree.”

“Shall we go then?  I’m sure your father is waiting.”

Riza slid into the front passenger seat with far more ease than either her predicament or the cheap fabric of the seats warranted. “It’s Friday night,” she remarked with an air of truth.  Not to make a habit of fibbing, she felt the need to remind Roy of the reality. “We both know he’s already collapsed on the couch in his study. When I said I’d never sleep under that roof again, I meant it.  I’ll stay in the pool house.”

Roy turned the key in the ignition, and the well-used sedan sparked to life.  The vehicle’s drooping headlights swept the emptied parking lot as the cadet major turned onto the unpaved road.  The sounds of crunching gravel almost buried Roy’s groan of frustration. Yet, in the haste of being only too happy to leave both the fairground and the memory of their kiss behind, Riza didn’t question it.

* * *

It took 10 minutes to reach the highway, and from there, it would be another 15 before they arrived at the affluent East City Heights.  Despite the elephant in the back seat, neither cadet mentioned anything about the evening’s events. Begrudgingly, Riza realized that Breda had been right.  It was her move, and her usual tactics fell short of anything more than stalling.

Unsurprisingly, Riza’s first instinct was to maintain the status quo, to live the lie that she’d proclaimed with gusto minutes earlier. _“…just a kiss on the hand…”_    But if it had really been as innocent as his placement suggested, if it had really meant nothing, the silence wouldn’t have felt so charged.  The radio would not have chosen that moment to speak to her.

A familiar beat ricocheted from Roy’s ancient speakers.  It curled around Riza’s ears like a potent lullaby and reverberated through her mind until she placed the song two seconds too late.  By the time Hawkeye reached to turn the dial, the lyrics had blossomed into a message she couldn’t ignore, an answer to the question she kept asking herself.

What happens next?

 

> _Settle down with me_
> 
> _Cover me up_
> 
> _Cuddle me in_
> 
>  
> 
> _Lie down with me_
> 
> _And hold me in your arms_

 

Roy cleared his throat.  “You can turn it,” he said like it was such a simple thing.  Turn off the song, turn the page, wall up these feelings behind bricks of duty and layers of misapplied loyal mortar.  But none of that would change the quickened thump of her tell-tale heart.

“No.”  Riza lowered her arm, letting it rest dangerously close to Roy on his side of the gear shift.  “I like this song.”

 

> _And your heart's against my chest, your lips pressed in my neck_
> 
> _I'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet_
> 
> _And with a feeling I'll forget, I'm in love now_

 

“Why?” He glanced over at her with questioning eyes before directing his attention back to the road.  The back of Roy’s hand rested temptingly near Riza, so close that she could sense he was cold, wanting the warmth of her digits.  In contrast, the sour vinegar in his voice was palpable. “I can think of better love songs,” he said ruefully. “This one seems sad and slow.  Don’t you want something happier? A story that might suit you better.”

She knew what the refrain would say before Ed Sheeran’s voice crooned the cruel words at her.  And the little voice in the recesses of her mind suddenly echoed Breda’s earlier question, the one she never answered.   _“Aren’t you tired of it?”_

Yes, she was exhausted.  Fed up with the looks of longing and small touches that amounted to little more than frustration.  Yet, try as she might, Riza couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for falling for her father’s assistant, her superior officer.  For Roy.

And just as all doubt left her, the short distance between their hands became unbearable.  Once again enveloped in the darkness of his car, Riza gave in. She laced her fingers through Roy’s, just as he had on the day she buried her mother, and pushed her thoughts of reprisal aside.  She wanted him too.

“I don’t want another story,” she answered with a breathy tone that was far removed from her normal register.  “I like this one, mine.”

 

> _Kiss me like you wanna be loved_
> 
> _You wanna be loved_
> 
> _You wanna be loved_
> 
> _This feels like falling in love_
> 
> _Falling in love_
> 
> _We're falling in love_

 

“Well there’s no accounting for taste,” Roy managed in a raspy voice.  He squeezed Riza’s hand gently bringing his palm flush with hers. “Does Ed Sheeran deserve such a loyal fan?  I had no idea you liked gingers.”

“Not particularly.  I prefer tall, dark and complicated, but you knew that, Roy.”

Roy groaned, exhaling slowly at the sound of his name.  If the pressure on her hand was any indication, there was little he could do to turn back.  Riza didn’t kid herself; she was in the same boat.

* * *

Thankfully, her father had remembered to unlock the gate, though Riza suspected Roy had a key in any event.  And when he turned into the parking spot next to her father’s luxury crossover with practiced ease, Riza understood just how much Roy was risking when he flirted with her feelings in the dark.  Despite the professor’s frigid exterior, Berthold Hawkeye never let anyone park in her mother’s old spot. No one, it seemed, except Roy Mustang. Nevertheless, that hard-won trust could turn a dime.  Riza knew this all too well because she witnessed what had happened with her mother.

Roy insisted on walking her to the pool house, though, Riza would have asked if him to if he hadn’t offered.  Once again, their hands found each other along the short walk. She shivered at the memory of his lips on her skin, wishing for them taste places other than the back of her hand.  The young woman struggled to think of anything besides the feeling of his fingers curling and rubbing hers with desperate fragility. Riza searched for the most off-putting topic she could think of to maintain her composure.

“Has he let you in on his research?” she asked, albeit with genuine curiosity.

“Not in so many words,” Roy replied, also thankful for the loaded topic, “but I’ve pieced a lot of it together.”

He paused, turning his gaze toward Riza as they arrived at the door of the pretty pool house.  “I haven’t told him, but I’ve been approached about a practical application for his work. It was Grand, the military if you can imagine.  He’ll be furious when he finds out. Professor Hawkeye’s refused their advances several times, so they’re recruiting the next best thing: Me.”  However well-earned, the young man’s words dripped with vanity and inner-conflict.

“Why tell me?” the blonde shot back.  She couldn’t claim to know what Berthold was working toward anymore than the university that inexplicably indulged his twisted genius.

“Because I don’t want there to be secrets between us,” Roy explained.  “And I’d like to know what you think I should do. Not right now, but after you think about it.  It’s selfish, but I want at least one Hawkeye’s blessing, and you know what it’s capable of.”

Riza laughed.  “Is that what this is about?”  She glanced at their intertwined fingers.  “My blessing?”

“No,” he responded, and they both knew she’d known the answer before she even asked.  “But maybe it would be better to think of me that way, like an ambitious bastard who’d do anything to ease his conscious.  Would you believe that?”

“No,” she said, “Edward would though if it’s any consolation.”  Riza reluctantly untangled their fingers and searched for her keys in a shallow pocket.  She made short work of unlocking the door. Her reeling expectations were accompanied by the muddled sound of metallic clinks.

“Wrong blonde,” Roy chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “Story of my life, these days.”

Riza opened the door but paused short of crossing the threshold when she felt the distance between herself and Roy widen.  She spun around and leaned against the frame with lust coursing through her veins and questions streaming through her brain.  She looked back at him, silhouetted against the brilliant refractions of the pool’s clear water.  However different, his eyes mirrored hers in every way that mattered.

_"D _e_ cide what you want from him, and make your peace.” _  At last, Riza obliged.

“Come in,” she dictated, leaving no room for doubt or debate.

“Do you know what you’re asking,” he queried with a raspy honesty reserved for her and only her.  “It’ll be hell if anyone finds out.”

Riza smiled contentedly, despite all the uncertainties and complications that a real relationship presented.  “I do,” she stated. “Some people are worth burning for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. If so, you know the drill. Kudos, bookmarks and comments are appreciated. Also, check out my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me an ask, a prompt or even an anon nasty message if that floats your boat. 
> 
> Depending on the feedback, I might do a not-T-rated epilogue at some other time, but I don’t want to commit to it at the moment. Plus, I’d like to know if there’s any interest for it before I devote more time to this AU. Gotta get back to [Carry That Weight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13772886/chapters/31655796)!
> 
> Until next time!


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